It was His
by pitupaso
Summary: Naruto can be incredibly sticky regarding certain issues. Oneshot, drabble.


_AN: This part takes place sometime during the three years Naruto went training with Jiraiya._

**It was His**

Naruto was sulking. Badly.

So what if he was fourteen. He still had a right to sulk as much as he liked.

The Ero-teme had left after their little argument, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Brat, I'm not going to waste any of my energy on this discussion. Think about it, alright? I'll be back later." And he'd left to do his "research".

So now Naruto was sitting in the middle of his rented bed, arms folded tightly over a well-toned chest, clad in only his green-with-orange-swirls boxers and his very battered, worn hitai-ate tied around his forehead. The remnants of his loud orange jumpsuit lay in near half-shreds before him, courtesy of the training routines said Ero-teme put him through.

"You need new clothes", Ero-teme had said, shaking his white hair as he'd poked at the tattered heap of orange, "this won't last much longer. Mending can only do so much, and besides, you're getting too big for it. Those pant legs aren't going to cover up those hairy shins of yours any longer."

Naruto had flushed at that statement, but grudgingly agreed that he did indeed need new clothing. Puberty had descended on him suddenly – he'd shot up in height, now up to the Ero-sennin's shoulder; his voice, while still quite high in pitch, had broken; his muscles were beginning to fill out and he looked slightly ridiculous fitting that childish orange jacket over his expanding frame. So he agreed.

It was only when Ero-Sennin had mentioned to discard his old hitai-ate and get himself a new one that the loud ninja began protesting.

"I WILL NOT EXCHANGE MY HITAI-ATE!"

"Why the hell not! And brat, you don't need to blow up my eardrums."

"I don't care! I'm NOT giving up this hitai-ate for anything else!"

"Idiot! I'm not asking you to throw it away or become a Missing-Nin! Look at it – it's battered, scratched up to the point where it's nearly beyond recognition, the cloth is so filthy and frayed it's amazing it's still able to tie around that thick head of yours!"

"THAT'S YOUR FAULT, TEME! You and those crazy training sessions of yours!"

"Just exchange the damned hitai-ate, Naruto! What's the big deal?"

"NO! I'm not giving this up for anything else!"

Jiraiya had left. He'd never asked why, just believed it was Naruto being his usual childish self, and he'd come to terms with it sooner or later.

The hitai-ate had been Iruka's.

Naruto knew it was childish. Jiraiya hadn't needed to tell him so, or give him a look that plainly said he didn't know what was going on in that thick head of his. But the hitai-ate had been his very first gift – it was the first time he'd ever been accepted, the first time anyone had ever recognized him. Iruka could have waited until the next day to get him another headband from the hundred of others manufactured, but he'd chosen to give Naruto his own right there and then – something personal.

He'd been afraid of ruining it at first. He'd kept the hitai-ate in his drawer and wore his usual green goggles to the ceremony instead. And when he could delay not wearing it no longer, he'd begrudgingly put it on and did his best to keep it from getting dirty.

Of course, being a ninja, that fact was quickly proven impossible.

So Naruto changed his viewpoint. For every scratch, every chip, every fleck of dirt or sweat or blood that stuck on the hitai-ate, it would show that he was doing well. That he was a ninja, not hiding in the shadows to keep his hands clean; no, he would go out there and fight and show the others who he was, and the scars and the battering on his hitai-ate would be proof of that. And he would proudly explain the stories and reasons behind each and every dent or chip on the metal, every tear and rip in the navy fabric as he sat with Iruka-sensei in Ichiraku Ramen, who would smile and laugh and ruffle his head fondly at how his little brat was growing up.

Now he was being asked to replace the thing in its entirety and… Naruto couldn't understand. Because, to Naruto, it was complicated.

He was still sulking when Jiraiya stuck his head back in the door and saw that the brat hadn't moved from his spot. "Oi, brat."

Defiant blue eyes glared up beneath a mop of tousled sunshine hair. He gave a grunt, then looked away. "What, Ero-teme."

Jiraiya raised an eyebrow at the new nickname and crossed his arms, entering the room to lean against the doorframe. He glared back at the brat, slight amusement running along the thin line of his lips.

"…seeing since you're_ that_ emotionally attached to a piece of metal stuck on a cloth, I thought maybe you'd like to just go pick a new hitai-ate altogether, and keep that old one since you like it so much."

Naruto's eyes widened.

Jiraiya smirked.

"…Can I really?"

Jiraiya flung his hands up. "You really are dense, aren't you? Geeze. Are you telling me that option never appealed to you before?"

The blond said nothing, but instead leapt off the bed and tackled Jiraiya in a bear hug.


End file.
